


Beyond Measure

by lemurious



Series: Rest for the Wicked [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday Gift Exchange, M/M, Negotiations, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/pseuds/lemurious
Summary: Bilbo has to conduct the most difficult negotiations in his life; Smaug was tame in comparison. In the process, he may win more than he expected.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Rest for the Wicked [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007490
Comments: 27
Kudos: 48
Collections: Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020





	1. The Irksome Duties of a Treasury Councilor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oaken_shield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaken_shield/gifts).



> Dear Recipient, thank you so much for your lovely prompt and I do hope you enjoy this fic! It is my first Bilbo/Thorin fic I have ever written and I wanted to make it fluffy and hopeful for the festive occasion... and that extended to humanizing the characters that are often overlooked. Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday!

Bilbo was getting increasingly exasperated. Usually it was his favorite state of mind, particularly when directed at the accountants of Erebor, who in turn were so afraid of his scolding that they were secretly considering whether they would prefer to walk into a dragon’s den than face Master Baggins over a mistake in calculating taxes owed by local smithies. Careful memorization of the Shire family trees and keeping track of the most unimportant deeds performed by his most remote relatives, as was only right and proper for any hobbit, had turned out to be marvelous training for the office of the Chief Councilor of the Treasury, which was the position Bilbo had been holding for three months now.

He had just recently started sleeping through the night without being plagued by nightmare after nightmare in which he would once again watch Thorin struggle to say his last words and squeeze Bilbo’s hand so hard that the hobbit’s fingers went numb, and would be told to go back to his books and his armchair in that shaky, broken voice that got stuck in Bilbo’s heart and refused to leave. As if he could even consider returning to his quaint life in the Shire, after he had seen mountains and learned to wield a sword. After he had been torn apart by worry, fear, determination and sorrow, and what he figured he might have to call love, once he got around to assigning a name for it one of these days.

Night after night Bilbo woke up from these nightmares gasping for air, disoriented, expecting to see a familiar wooden ceiling of Bag End, but the candlelight only showed him the shining veins of quartz in the walls of Erebor, carved in living rock, and he would remember that Thorin was but a handful of rooms away, under careful supervision of the healers at first, by now having been stitched back into his unyielding posture.

There was little reason to worry or fear, Bilbo told himself, and he should enjoy his (and Thorin’s) remarkably good fortune in having survived the battle and forget about the rest, but Bilbo just kept having a nagging feeling of his life being incomplete and falling just short of what it could be like. He remembered the whirlwind of emotions when the Dwarf was dangling him from the ramparts, not to mention that slow, agonizing wait for the Eagles to finally pick up the injured Thorin to fly him to Erebor, then running the entire way to meet them back at the gates, the ring on his finger to avoid any curious onlookers, forgetting all about the battle, every step, every breath pounding the cold cadence of fear into his heart – _was Thorin still alive_.

Sometimes Bilbo wished he could disappear and rethink his life to realize exactly what was lacking between Thorin and himself now that the battle was over and they just somehow could not manage to speak to each other properly. Unfortunately, being a Person of Prominent Standing in the Kingdom left little time for idle speculations – to be fair, just today he barely had time to eat second breakfast, and had been forced to skip elevensies on at least two occasions in recent memory.

At least, he still saw plenty of Thorin at the Council meetings – together with King Dáin, which still sounded to Bilbo like a strangely contrived title. But Thorin insisted he was a wartime general and in times of peace, which they all intended to make last, Dáin was far better trained to deal with the logistics of running a kingdom, and he could still retain Thorin as a Councilor of War and Negotiations. In Bilbo’s opinion, Thorin should have stuck to the first part of the title. While the Dwarf thoroughly exceeded at War, his ability at Negotiations could at best be compared to a swimming Balrog: little skill or interest leading to lots of fumes and some ineffectual splashing around.

Fortunately, Bilbo learned to step in, as he did since the beginning, when they had to recover the Arkenstone from Bard and give him a share of the treasure complete with abject apologies, all of which Bilbo just took care of instead of forcing Thorin through the steps. It was significantly harder with Thranduil, but eventually even the Elvenking was persuaded by their most intricate jewelry to reopen the trade alliances that had dated back to Thror’s times, and Erebor soon acquired comfortable wooden furniture in exchange for loaning a few Dwarvish engineers to the Halls of the Elvenking to finally install running water and a heating system.

One negotiation after another Bilbo had become indispensable to Thorin, who still looked at him like he was made of glass, instead of being a fine specimen of sturdy hobbitry, and seemed unable to find words when only the two of them would be left in the chamber after the meeting. Was he still feeling guilty? But of course Bilbo had forgiven Thorin for all his foolish behavior ages ago, even before he had rushed out to the hilltop to see the Dwarf fall at his feet.

Still, this was becoming intolerable, and Bilbo was increasingly assured that he and Thorin would need to have a Conversation, preferably, before winter came and shut them all in Erebor for a few snowed-in months. But those plans kept being pushed to the future, while at present Bilbo was fully occupied with his direct duties serving on the Council.

And on top of everything else, apparently now there were two _Orcs_ standing outside and proclaiming that they had come to petition Erebor for aid.


	2. The Most Unexpected Visitors

When Bilbo was informed about the petitioners waiting outside the gates, he promptly walked to greet them and invited them inside, blatantly ignoring the outraged proclamations of Balin and Glóin, who were serving as gatekeepers.

“Do you not remember what it feels to be met with suspicion in every town you enter, and have to beg for any kind of work that would keep you and your families from starvation?” he asked the Dwarves.“Do they not have families too, who may not survive the winter unless we step in; and are we, sitting on a literal pile of gold, going to refuse our aid, like the Elves have done to earn your scorn for a century?”

The Dwarves eventually relented, telling Bilbo that it was his business to deal with both Dáin and Thorin about this matter and wishing him luck, though Glóin approached the hobbit in a hallway afterwards and slipped a heavy pouch into his coat pocket.

“For the… petitioners,” he said. ”I remember only too well what it was like to decide between spending your last penny on a log for the fire, or on a bowl of soup in a kitchen for the poor.”

Bilbo thanked Glóin profusely and called a special meeting of the entire Council together with their allies who were overseeing the rebuilding of Dale, including the new King of Dale and the ageless King of Mirkwood, who, if rumors were to be believed, barely ever left each other’s company.

Everyone readily agreed, though when they saw Bilbo walk in with the petitioners, their benevolent spirits evaporated in an instant. Everyone seemed to consider it their duty to jump to their feet and start shouting immediately, with Thorin and Dáin leading the throng.

Bilbo had to stand on the table to calm them down. At least he was rewarded by a sight of Thorin staring with his mouth open, the quarrel completely forgotten.

“Messrs. Ghashmog and Durbagund, from Gundabad, at your service and your families’” repeated Bilbo with great emphasis. His visitors stood behind him, clearly weighing their chances of being able to leave the Council chamber alive.

“You let these Orcs walk free inside _my_ realm?” growled Dáin.

“Those filthy beasts inside _my_ fortress?” Thorin seconded, sounding more confused than angry.

“One might say that their very visage smudges the beauty of this chamber,” pompously announced Thranduil.

“Well, what do they want?” Bard, as always, was the only one with an ounce of common sense.

 _Finally,_ Bilbo thought as he began the explanation. “These Orcs assumed the command of Gundabad after the Battle, and now have come to beg for peace and offer their help to rebuild Dale, and Erebor, for payment only enough to cover food and shelter for themselves and their families. There are about fifty Orcs in their retinue currently encamped outside, ready to start working as soon as possible, and a few thousand more in Gundabad. They are worried that they will not survive the winter, with most of their hunters and trappers having been recruited into the armies and then promptly killed in the war."

“Why should we care about a handful of Orcs?” sneered Dáin. Let them starve – serves them right for picking fights!”

“Don’t you remember who started the first fight in the Battle of the Five Armies?” retorted Bilbo. “Elves and Dwarves, if I recall correctly! Yet now you are back on friendly terms, despite the former enmity that had been at least as long-standing as your hatred of Orcs.”

“I see no reason to bandy words with an Orcish emissary,” Thorin concluded with an air of finality, walking out of the chamber, which effectively concluded the negotiations.

Bilbo made sure the Orcs left through the kitchens, where Bombur was perfectly happy to share some of his magnificent meals – not all Dwarves were unreasonable at the sight of people dressed in rags and clearly close to starvation, even if they were of a different kindred than themselves – but that left Bilbo no closer to achieving any sort of agreement.

In desperation, the Orc leaders asked for one last meeting, and Bilbo went right back to Thorin, where he mustered all his courage and told the Dwarf exactly what he thought about his ungentlemanly and poorly mannered behavior during the negotiations.

Bilbo stared Thorin down until he agreed to another meeting, to the great surprise of Dwalin’s, who later whispered to Balin that he had never seen Thorin give in so easily. Thorin still requested a two week delay, since he had to continue another set of negotiations, this time with Thranduil, about whether Kíli would be sent out as an emissary to Mirkwood or Tauriel would become one in Erebor. (They had long since given up on the idea of separating those two.) Now Bilbo had to somehow figure out how another meeting would persuade Dáin to change his mind, and what to do with the poor Orcs for the next two weeks.

On all accounts, it was time for desperate measures. After nightfall, Bilbo slipped the Ring on his finger, scuttled out of Erebor and walked straight into the main tent of the small Orcish encampment.


	3. The Plans of Master Bilbo

Bilbo carefully selected the farthest corner of the tent for his reappearance, as far removed from the Orcish scimitars as possible. _One can never be too stealthy when invisible_ , he thought and decided to turn it into a proverb later.

“What are _you_ doing here?” yelped Ghashmog.

“Who _are_ you?” suspiciously inquired the other Orcs, gathered around a table stacked high with maps and documents.

“Bilbo Baggins, of… oh, well, of Erebor now, I suppose, at your service!”

“The Treasury Councilor,” explained Durbagund.

“Came to gloat at us?” Ghashmog asked morosely.

“First of all, the proper response is ‘At your service and your family’s.’ Second, obviously, I have come to help you with the next round of negotiations,” responded Bilbo.

Ghashmog was not so easily convinced. “What's the point of even holding it? Keeping us stuck here for two weeks, eating whatever we can find in the neighboring marshes, only to listen to Thorin berate us once again at the end of the wait!”

“I have been thinking of ways to make you a little more…persuasive,” answered Bilbo. “To begin with, since you are, for all purposes, local, you must be at least somewhat familiar with the spiders in Mirkwood. Is there anyone in your company able to mount a defense against them?”

“Naturally,” Durbagund responded. “But why do you ask?”

“Because I would like to offer your services as protection for King Thranduil’s entourage. Although the King will remain here, the new Dwarvish emissary is scheduled to travel to Mirkwood in a few days. You can expect only modest remuneration, I’m afraid, but this is just the beginning…”

By now all the Orcs had encircled Bilbo to watch him in silence, some with their mouths open. Eventually every Orc in the encampment tried to crowd into the tent, which was beginning to creak at the seams, inspiring Bilbo to ask the next question.

“Also, I assume, Gundabad is a rather old fortress, similar to Erebor here, and needs a lot of maintenance. Do any of you know masonry, or basic repairs?”

Almost every Orc in the tent raised their hands.

“That is much better than I expected!” announced Bilbo. “Dale needs major rebuilding from the damage done by, well, all of _your_ cousins, combined with dragon fire. Your former involvement in the battle means that you are rather at a disadvantage where wages are concerned, but at least, you could slowly start showing the Men of Dale what a pair of Orcish hands can do when they hold a hammer and not a sword.”

The Orcs continued to look increasingly intrigued.

“I say we got nothing to lose!” Durbagund was the first to agree.

Ghashmog was harder to convince. “But will the Men of Dale actually let us help with the rebuilding, instead of beheading us on the spot?”

Bilbo sounded much more confident than he felt. “Leave that to me. I will talk to the Elves of Thranduil’s entourage and the Men of Dale, perhaps even Bard himself. It would be best if I could only bring a couple of you at first… and please, do make sure to shower and wash your clothes beforehand. There is a perfectly serviceable lake right next door.”

“What about those of us who can neither build houses nor fight spiders?” Ghashmog remained concerned.

“That would be a problem... They may have to go straight to Erebor,” Bilbo mused. “Bombur and his cooks seem to be remarkably well disposed towards the Orcs, at least compared to the rest of Thorin’s Company. And they have been complaining about being short-staffed.”

Bilbo’s new ideas, or at least the earnestness with which he was looking for solutions, was sufficient to convince even Ghashmog.

“You heard Master Baggins! Make yourselves presentable and go _get a job!_ I will hold onto half of your earnings, if any, for your families in Gundabad!”

After the Orcs had trickled out of the tent, most of them wearing expressions of utter confusion, Bilbo turned back to Ghashmog and Durbagund.

“I have to admit, once again I am trying to meddle where it might be wiser to leave the matters alone, but if all of this fails, I don’t want you to starve because I can’t come up with a better plan. There's not much treasure in Erebor that I can truly lay a claim on, but at least I have this. Thorin gave it to me, back before the battle.” And Bilbo offered his mithril shirt to the Orcs.

“This is precious beyond measure,” Ghashmog said slowly. “And not just because mithril is no longer mined on Arda. The Oakenshield must value you greatly indeed, Master Hobbit.”

Bilbo forcibly steadied his voice. “Then it may prove to be a good bargaining chip. Now let's hurry, we have to visit both Elves and Men, and stop by the kitchens in Erebor, all before dawn.”

By the end of the night Bilbo could barely stay upright with exhaustion, and his voice was long gone, but he felt thoroughly accomplished. All three meetings followed the same pattern: Bilbo would introduce his entourage (selected two freshly scrubbed Orcs from Gundabad), which would evoke a general uproar, after which Bilbo would explain the dire situation in the Orcish fortress and describe the skills of these two particular Orcs, noting that they would come much cheaper than the competition, and he was only asking to hire them for a couple of weeks anyway, after which they could be let go if needed. This tended to seal the bargain, and off Bilbo went to his next meeting, dragging the next couple of Orcs behind him.

As Bilbo suspected, Bombur was the easiest to convince, since he had been running himself positively thin trying to feed the entire fortress, and Óin surprisingly offered help on his own accord, agreeing to employ some of the remaining Orcs in gathering medicinal herbs for him under the eaves of Mirkwood. Óin did not choose to explain that if anyone had to be eaten by a giant spider while running his errands, an Orc would be somewhat preferable.

The Arrangement, as Bilbo started to call it in his journal, was moving along most agreeably, until just one day before the next (and final) attempt at official negotiations Dáin decided to raid the kitchens for a late-night snack and found no fewer than half dozen Orcs industriously chopping vegetables.


	4. The Key to All Negotiations

Bilbo only learned of these developments the following morning, as he was standing at the gates of Erebor with the Orcs, Elves and Men ready for renewed negotiations. They all saw Dáin march in at the head of six Orcish prisoners, followed by Thorin and his company looking grim and worried to varying degrees.

“I found this rabble in my kitchens!” Dáin declared. “Truly, this has gone too far. I will release them if you swear to go back to Gundabad and never take up arms against Erebor again! Let’s see if your lot actually cares about each other!”

Bilbo was getting ready to explain, but, to his surprise, Bombur was first. “They have been absolutely marvelous in the kitchens. We are nearly done preparing pickles to last all winter! I would much prefer they remained with us at least until we finish the jams!”

This enthusiastic outburst was followed by a much quieter one from Glóin. “Lord Dáin, you have never been exiled from Iron Hills and, as is natural for royalty, you are unlikely to know what it feels like to be one unlucky step away from death by freezing or starvation. These Orcs will attack us in sheer desperation if we don’t help them now. They are not even begging for handouts – just asking to be employed instead. Mahal knows, we of old Erebor are no strangers to being in their situation and taking any job we could find.”

“An honest Orc, you say! What would we see next – a bearded Elf?” sneered Dáin.

Dáin was not a bad king, Bilbo reminded himself, but he did need his councilors.

“I have brought here both Men and Elves who can vouch for the Orcs being hard workers,” Bilbo said. “Or, if all else fails, they can pay to feed theor entire fortress.”

At which point Ghashmog revealed the mithril shirt, making Thorin’s eyes light up with incredulity as he stared at Bilbo.

“Well, I am not sure anything else here is truly mine,” the hobbit stammered. “And stop looking at me like that! I know they followed the wrong Orc, and were defeated for it, but, well, they still need to eat. Their families, too. Ghashmog here has two baby nieces left in Gundabad. The are too little to subsist on roots and herbs…and nobody _should_ subsist on roots and herbs anyway _, not on our watch._ No, not even Orcs.”

Bilbo thought this speech would make the hair on his feet turn grey. He had been less nervous while trying to flatter Smaug into revealing his underbelly.

“We can keep these Orcs in Erebor under surveillance, as a guarantee that the remaining ones will not commit any crimes,” Thorin suggested, ostensibly, to Dáin, though his eyes were on Bilbo the whole time.

“What about _our_ guarantee that you won’t just kill them?” asked Ghashmog, suspiciously eyeing Dáin.

“Well, that’s just where we got you,” Dáin clearly enjoyed toying with the Orcs, who were looking increasingly unhappy with the whole situation. “You see, the key to all good negotiations is having something the other side truly desires.”

Bilbo made another decision. He took a deep breath, slipped the Ring on his finger and darted over, suddenly reappearing right next to Ghashmog.

“In that case, I suppose, you can have me instead, to vouch for their safety,” he said.

The next thing that happened stunned him speechless.

In a couple of strides, Thorin was at Bilbo’s side.

“And me,” he added. “I may not trust a single Orc or want them anywhere closer to me than the reach of my sword, but I would be a fool beyond measure not to trust Bilbo. Not when I know that his decisions come from the heart.”

Dáin’s position had just become far more precarious than he would have preferred.

“Give in,” abruptly said Thranduil. “We both know what war is like, well, in my case, I have been fighting these or very similar Orcs for a couple thousand years, isn’t it time to try something else? Let’s see if by working together we could manage to eradicate the spiders, and perhaps even set up a guard against that supposed Necromancer in Mirkwood?”

“I wouldn’t agree with you if I hadn’t seen the Orcs dutifully rebuilding Dale for the last two weeks,” Bard said. “Though we will not tolerate any criminals in the city.”

Bilbo did not realize everyone was waiting for him to officially conclude the negotiations and announce their success. He was completely occupied by looking at Thorin.

“You – you trust me,” he said. It somehow seemed insufficient.

“Trust is the least I feel for you,” replied Thorin.

 _That forsaken Dwarf,_ Bilbo thought. _Always ready with a perfectly poetic pronouncement, even when he is dying on the ice. Well, I have always been a hobbit of action._

When he pulled Thorin in for a kiss, it was the first occasion in everyone’s memory that they heard Dwarves, Men, Elves and Orcs cheer in unison.

Ghashmog gently placed the mithril shirt behind Bilbo and motioned to everyone to leave.

Bilbo only wore the shirt once after that, resplendent in mithril next to Thorin’s burnished steel at their wedding during the midwinter holiday.

The news of the merry occasion have reached all the way to Rivendell, and Lord Elrond began planning a visit to see for himself how Erebor, Dale, Mirkwood and Gundabad were managing their trade union that was beginning rival the economy of Gondor. Apparently, hungry Orcs were quick learners, and then they discovered an entire lode of iron ore right under Gundabad.

Meanwhile, Bilbo was glad to only feel exasperated when his aides would not be able to figure out the taxes. He knew he would eventually have to visit the Shire to settle his accounts, and he suspected that his story was far from being over, especially after meeting an increasingly frazzled Gandalf who barely congratulated the happy couple when he began interrogating Bilbo about his Ring. But he still was perfectly content to use his favorite old phrase in his journal: “And they lived happily ever after to the end of their days.” It could always be revised later if needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Further adventures of Ghashmog and Durbagund can be found in [A Few Trusty Lads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467398/chapters/67155289) (cw: character death). 
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, kudos and comments are very much appreciated! I am also lemurious on tumblr.


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